


Spy's Revenge

by disillusionist9



Series: Choose Dare [59]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dragonpox, First War with Voldemort, Implied Slash, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disillusionist9/pseuds/disillusionist9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble #61 of 100 | Abraxas is sure of his place at the Dark Lord's side, but someone has their eye on his seat by the throne</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spy's Revenge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ibuzoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibuzoo/gifts).



The fading glow of a bruise, in the shape of a set of straight teeth, winked at Abraxas from his mirror. Turning his sharp chin so the skin stretched and distorted the love-bite, Abraxas traced a finger over the mark, before resting the tip of his wand against it and healing it away.

If it were his choice, he'd display the claim forever.

Words as slippery as silk sheets coursed through his memory, but none so much as _discretion_ , moving with a susurrus down his spine. Always discrete. Abraxas' talent for walking the line between circumspection and knowing when to take the risk was his Lord's reason for trusting him, for desiring him both body and mind, above all others.

Or at least that's what he told himself.

His Lord was distant, as of late. The pale skin, with its olive pallor, seemed translucent after the last months of less than satisfactory gains over the Order of the Phoenix. Abraxas, even in his lauded position, after knowing him since they'd sat together at the Slytherin house table, chose his words carefully when speaking to his lord, Tom Riddle.

He let the name roll around his tongue without speaking it, knowing the power in that name, the Taboo attached after a painstaking stint in the Ministry the week before. Not many were found scorched in their homes as punishment for breaking the spell, but they were many enough to satisfy the Dark Lord. Knowing the number of those who knew his name was dwindling seemed the only spark of joy in his days. Even bruising Abraxas wasn't bringing the same thrill to his eyes as before as it had for so many years. Especially after Abraxas married the witch who'd given him the one son required of him, when the ring on his finger burned into his skin and marking him permanently as an adulterer. The scars from the burns were only hidden by that same ring, affording him the appearance of a mournful widower even after more than a decade since her passing.

Dinner that evening, a delicious display of wealth and grandeur after the meeting with their Lord, was hushed and expectant. No one's fingernails had a speck of blood beneath them to belie the activities before those hands gripped silverware shined expertly by the house elves. Each face was unlined and relaxed as bites of duck confit disappeared down throats, not a trace of concern or guilt.

Except for the young man his Lucius brought home. Severus Snape.

Abraxas observed the two men walking through the halls of his Manor closely each time they came home from Hogwarts, since the Snape child was thirteen. His boy a white bishop deftly moving through the ranks of their Lord, and the other a black pawn if he'd ever seen one, itching to reach the other end of the board to move up to a higher ranking chess piece. He'd suspected his son followed his own proclivity for the tall and dark, though they seemed to disagree on the definition of _handsome_.

Abraxas brushed the thoughts from his head as petty and inconsequential. His Lord was late to arrive to the meeting, and he had the suspicion it related to his private audience with him before the general audience of all the Knights of Walpurgis and the fresh crop of Death Eaters. The same private audience where he'd gained the bruises he swore he could still feel on his neck. Creating the distinction between the new and the old blood was of the utmost importance in keeping the untested followers on the straight and narrow, and he'd spoken frankly to that fact to the Dark Lord, ensuring he was aware of his suspicion towards one man in particular.

The elves removed the third course before his Lord entered the hall, taking his place on Abraxas's right, at the head of his table. The low scraping of chairs across the marble floor halted the chatter of conversations as each man, and the few women, stood for him. He took his time, acknowledging those he deemed worthy, before settling his dark robes and thin frame into the seat for him. With a nod of his head he bade those surrounding him to sit once more.

As he moved to sit, Abraxas felt his knees give way and his airways constrict before he hit the floor. On the way down his head slammed into the solid oak tabletop, sending him pell-mell to the ground, instantly surrounded by his son and other Knights of Walpurgis.

A haze of green filled his vision, much duller than _Avada Kedavra._ Though it didn't appear to be the killing curse, Abraxas felt those nearest him pull away suddenly, exclamations of _Dragonpox!_ thrumming through his head like funeral chimes.

Lifted from the floor by magic and rushed to the Floo for St. Mungo's, Abraxas reached one green-tinged hand towards his master, hoping to beckon him to join him at his side, his likely final hour while the disease cast a cloud over his skin and vision. No movement except the methodical back and forth of a knife met his vision as Tom stayed put, not even looking back to his dying lover.

Moving through the green flames, Abraxas missed the shared look between the black pawn making his way into the spot recently vacated, a smooth promotion from infantryman to queen, though the knowledge he was correct in his prediction would have afforded him no comfort as he died alone in St. Mungo's.


End file.
